


Convalesce

by Nadler



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 NHL Season, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: With a broken hand, John Klingberg is basically useless.





	Convalesce

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning out my WIPs. This is 95% done, I think, so here it is.

John is only twenty-six, but he's been injured before. This time might top his hip problem that one year, but at the same time--

"You've replaced me," John complains, even as Esa carefully holds a glass of water up, pondering whether John can be trusted to drink water with his one good hand. Which he can, but Esa is a worrywart. "With a _rookie_." 

John's on rest, injured. He's allowed his own bed. He's not supposed to do much. Esa is supposed to look after him, but he really can't, not when they both have jobs to do, and that job is called _being an NHL defenseman_. And he's on a line with someone else. It feels weird, not being on the same pairing, even if it's because John blocked a shot at the worst possible moment, in the worst possible way. 

Esa looks unimpressed, but a corner of his lip lifts up as he replies, "Well, this one listens to me. And passes to me. You never do." He hands John the glass of water, and John valiantly drinks it, with a minimum of water spilt down his chin. 

He doesn't protest. 

John pouts when he finishes the water, and Esa takes the glass immediately, fingers brushing John's as Esa sighs, "God, John, what I am supposed to do with you?" and the way Esa says his name always gets to John; he says it Esa-ly, Finnishly, mostly, but with the edge of fondness that even he can't hide. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but John only runs his tongue over his teeth and says nothing. He sinks back into his very soft bed, and he doesn't think about what he needs to say. 

Esa brushes a hand across John's forehead, and that's dumb; he has a broken hand, not a fever, and John thinks he even says so--this only gets a bark of laughter from Esa, who only says, "Well, that might be the drugs talking." 

That's true. They have John on the good stuff. 

"I don't need to be drugged to say I want you here." John turns into his pillow, and he hears the soft creak of the bed as Esa settles down and nestles behind John. John huffs. "Oh, maybe I'm dreaming then? " 

"Shut up or you don't get to be the little spoon," Esa says, and well, it's a convincing argument. 

 

He ends up going to watch practice even if he's strictly not supposed to. John, like many scratches and injured players before him, isn't supposed to mess up anyone else's routines. He watches Esa run drills like he can do them in his sleep, which he probably could, and he watches the rest of the defense: Polak doing standardly, Honks flashing by one aspect of the drills and dulling on another. Meth's next to him, watching the same sequence of events as John does. 

Meth says, "Tough luck," to John, and that's about all that needs to be said. 

"Yeah, you too." John would do more than just shrug, but that's all can do, with the busted hand. He looks back to practice. 

Miro looks to Esa for reassurance, and Esa gives it, probably a few words of comforting Finnish in his ear and a pat on his shoulder, and suddenly John wonders if he ever looked up to Dales or Goose or Karlsson like that, and he thinks, maybe, but it doesn't help the flash of irritation he feels. 

He's not jealous. 

Except, later, when Esa's winded and goes for a coconut water and a granola bar, Miro's right behind him, and he makes Esa laugh with a funny face and a sentence. 

John is old and wise enough to know this, too, will pass, but his brain and the feeling in the pit of his stomach are telling him very different things. 

Meth taps John on the shoulder and says, "You miss it already, huh?" 

"Yeah," he says, for lack of anything else. 

 

John's hurt. He doesn't get to start the next game, and Esa does, and he's annoyed he's not out there. 

 

Honks is there, when John lets himself into Esa's kitchen. It's not like it's a shock he's there; Honks is to Esa like what John has Janny for, except he and Esa probably do secret Finnish things or whatever. John wonders if he's wandered into something that he's not allowed to know on pain of death, but then he gives up and goes looking for fruit in Esa's kitchen. 

"Esa's taking the rookies and dinner back here," Honks says, fiddling with video game controllers. 

"Alright," and John texts Esa to also grab him dinner. 

 

It's dumb, the way he wants to make Esa look at him, when he comes in, talking animatedly with Roope and Miro. 

John tries one-handed juggling and ends up dropping several apples. 

"Should you even be holding things?" Miro asks, and well, he has a point. 

John waves his good hand, "I have one, not zero." 

It's only fun when Esa's fussing over him, John thinks. Otherwise, it's just annoying. Someone passes him a plate and then Honks, the asshole, wonders, "Should someone be spoon feeding you?"

John flips him off. 

 

Honks drives everyone home, and John pointedly flops onto Esa's couch. 

"Don't break something else," Esa says.

"I'll try," and John looks up at the ceiling. Esa sits next to him.

He grabs onto Esa like Esa might leave. Esa doesn't say a word about it, and he's careful not to let John put pressure on his hand, even so. He could probably take some more pills, but the ache isn't much, and Esa is warm. 

John snuffles against Esa. "Be a good pillow." 

"You want a movie or something?" Esa asks, and then he adds, "Warm milk? Blanket?" 

He makes a non-committal sound. John is pretty sure Esa would do it, if he asks, but he lets Esa think he's made some clever remark. 

After a moment: "Carry me?" 

"What are we, in a movie?" Esa protests, but he doesn't really, citing, "Well, you weight like a feather, so, fine."


End file.
